


Time After Time

by tmthesaurus (Duat)



Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Deconstruction, Existential Crisis, F/F, Horror, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-01-20 16:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12437076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duat/pseuds/tmthesaurus
Summary: Sam's quiet life in Saint-Martin is upended by the arrival of Ada. Sam finds herself drawn to the secretive woman, but as they explore their forbidden feelings, she can't help but wonder what Ada is hiding. What kind of future can you have with a woman who has no past?





	1. Chapter 1

“So, I went over to Toronto last weekend for Betsy’s wedding.” 

“Who?” 

“My cousin, Betsy. You met her when she came down for Annie’s baby shower in January.” 

“I don’t think I was there.” 

“You were definitely there.”

“I don’t think I was.”

“You definitely were. Remember, I borrowed your coat when Sue Ellen spilled honey on mine? I still have it in my closet, by the way.”

“See, but here’s the thing: I was visiting my mom back in Kansas in January.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“So, I couldn’t have been at the baby shower.”

“Huh. Then who the hell did I borrow that coat from?”

“Beats me. Maybe you stole it and came up with this baby shower honey story to ease your guilty conscience.”

“It’s not really a story.”

“I’ll say. There’s barely any structure, the dialogue’s unconvincing, and the characters seem to lack anything even remotely resembling personality or motivation.”

“Very funny. Now, you gonna listen or what?”

“Alright, alright.”

“So, I was in Toronto for Betsy’s wedding.”

“As we’ve established.”

“Natalie, I swear to God—”

“I’m listening. Sheesh. Don't get your panties in a bunch, Samanth—what’s with the look? I—oh, right. Don't get your panties in a bunch, Sam.”

“Anyway, while I was there, I figured I’d catch a flick at the old Nickelodeon.”

“What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“A movie at the cinema.”

“So just say that.”

“I’m trying to—”

“Bringing all that old-timey gibberish in here.”

“Can I ju—”

“Did you buy some moon pies, too?”

“Can I just finish my story?”

“Bunch of nonsense.”

“Are you done? Good. So, you know the Eaton Center?”

“You know I don’t.”

“Well, they’ve got this multiplex there. 21 screens.”

“Damn.”

“I know, right?”

“Lot of choice.”

“Right.”

“Still, not really worth going into Toronto for.”

“Says the girl from Kansas who routinely returns to Kansas, which, I might remind you, is in Kansas.”

“Hey, my mom’s in Kansas. She’s worth a heck of a lot more than some multiplex.”

“21 screens, Nat.”

“Hmph.”

“Miss Woods?”

Sam shrieked and held the books she was carrying against her chest in a protective embrace. She turned to the source of the voice, a junior named Ellen Bell. Ellen’s bewilderment could probably be seen from space. Sam felt her face heat up.

“Yes?” asked Sam, channeling her best simulacrum of a stern librarian from memories of childhood visits to the Detroit Public Library. The effect was spoiled somewhat by Natalie’s howls of laughter. Sam turned to her coworker and, in a fiercely whispered voice, suggested that it would perhaps be best if Natalie returned the books Sam held to their homes on the shelves of the library. After she left, Sam’s focus returned to the girl. She tried to play the part of the stern librarian again but found herself unable to keep a straight face.

“I need to do a book report for English, but I don’t have a book to write it on. I was kind of wondering if maybe you could recommend something?”

“Why not just ask Miss Rogers?”

“I want something written this century.”

Sam laughed despite herself and said, “Let’s make a deal: you promise you won’t tell anyone I laughed at that, and I’ll find a book you’ll love.” Ellen winked conspiratorially at Sam, then mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key. “So, what kind of books do you like?”

Ellen shrugged. “I don’t really know. I like scary movies; are there any scary books?”

 

“Well, you might like this one,” said Sam. She picked up  _Stranger with My Face_  and handed it to the girl. “It just came out.”

Ellen “What’s it about?

“A girl discovers her long-lost evil twin.”

“Radical,” said Ellen. “And you’re sure I’ll love it?”

“Or your money back,” said Sam as she wrote down Ellen’s information.

“This is a library.”

“Then I guess I’ll just keep the money.” Sam stamped the book and handed it to Ellen. “Have this back within two weeks, or next time I’ll charge you twice as much.”

“This is still a library.”

“I don’t have to take this from you. Get to class.”

“Alright. Thanks a bunch, Miss Woods.”

As Sam watched Ellen leave the library, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever see the book again.

###

Sam Woods was many things to many people. Librarian. Educator. Friend. Favorite aunt. Accordion enthusiast. The list was seemingly endless. At that moment, one stood out above the rest: excited. No more card catalogs. She was finally going to be using her computer training. No more card catalogs. The students would gain some much-needed experience operating computers. No more card catalogs! Of course, not everyone shared her enthusiasm.

“We have to replace a system that we know has worked for decades with some metal monstrosity?” Mrs. Rogers, head librarian and Sam’s boss, all but shouted.

“I believe the case is a type of organic polymer,” said Mr. Connors, his quiet monotone cutting into Sam’s soul deeper than usual. Something about the assistant principal was deeply unsettling, and Sam sometimes wondered if the man was, in fact, a primitive ancestor to the androids found in her beloved science fiction books.

“It doesn’t matter what the damn—okay.” Mrs. Rogers took in a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then exhaled slowly before continuing  _sotto voce_. “We can’t introduce computers into the library if none of the librarians know how to use computers.”

Mrs. Rogers and Mr. Connors stared at each other as an uncomfortable silence filled the air. Sam was building up the energy to explain that she knew perfectly well how to use a computer, thank you very much, when a small voice broke it.

“I can teach your librarians.” The speaker was a girl sitting in the old armchair in the corner. Since when were students allowed into the teachers’ lounge? Sam hadn’t seen her before but guessed that she was either a short senior or a mature sophomore.

“Excuse me?” asked Mrs. Rogers.

“I can teach your librarians,” repeated the girl. Her voice was accented, though Sam couldn’t quite place it. English? “I am, after all, a teacher.” She giggled to herself as she said the final word, the sound light and bouncy. Wait—

“Teacher?” said Natalie. Sam stole a glance at her friend; it seemed she was just as confused.

The girl (woman?) stood up and curtsied. “Ada Grünberg, Saint-Martin High’s new French teacher.”

“What happened to Sarah?” Sam asked.

“Mrs. Wright’s daughter fell ill, and has taken a leave of absence to care for her,” said Mr. Connors. “In the interim, Miss Grünberg will be taking her place.”

“Is she okay?”

“Sorry?”

“Is Sarah’s daughter okay?”

“You know, I never thought to ask,” said Mr. Connors. Jerk.

“In any event, I’m here, and I can teach your librarians how to use the new system,” said Ada.

“I know how to use a computer,” said Sam.

Ada turned to Sam and gave her the once-over, then smiled and gazed into Sam’s eyes. “Groovy. We can teach the others together.”

“Hold on, I still haven’t accepted this new system,” said Mrs. Rogers.

“Adapt or die, ma’am. At this very moment, a veritable army of Soviet librarians could be developing even more advanced tech. Isn’t it your duty as an American to ensure your schools aren’t out-paced by the Russians?” Ada’s dour voice was in stark contrast to the grin she wore.

“Well, that’s—what?”

“Exactly.” Ada nodded. “And since we’re now in agreement about the new system, I think it only right that I learn the specifics of the setup first. Mr. Connors?”

“Hmm?”

“The documentation, Mr. Connors.”

“Right. It’s in my office.”

“Would you kindly lead the way, Mr. Connors?” Together, Saint-Martin High’s assistant principal and newest faculty member left the teachers’ lounge.

“Sam,” said Natalie, “what the hell just happened?”


	2. 1.2

She’d done it. Sam had finally done it. After all these years, she’d broken her old record. Her sister had started talking, and less than two minutes and thirteen seconds later, Sam had lost the ability to understand spoken language. Record: smashed.  
  
Conversations with Reagan were best described as cyclical. Sam had sworn to herself that this time she’d pay attention, but like Sisyphus before her, she knew her efforts were ultimately in vain. Each time the topic looped back on itself, her words would degrade further and further until they inevitably devolved into a slurry of sounds. The rhythm of the conversation allowed Sam to nod and mutter polite nothings in all the right places, but that would only get her so far. She continued her conversational tightrope act, but eventually, her sister would expect her to say something substantive. Luckily, Sam always had an ace up her sleeve.  
  
“So, what are we doing for Dad’s birthday?”  
  
Reagan’s eyes narrowed as they met her own. “That’s what we’ve been talking about.”  
  
Damn it. So much for her ace. It was time to improvise.  
  
“Yeah, but what are we actually going to do? You need to settle on something, preferably before his birthday this time.”  
  
“Why do I have to decide?”  
  
“Because, as you’ve reminded me every day for the past twenty-six years, you’re older and therefore more mature.”  
  
Reagan’s brow furrowed as she gazed into her coffee. After a moment that stretched into eternity, she looked up once again, and Sam knew that she had her.  
  
“You’re right, of course. With age comes wisdom.”  
  
“And wrinkles. Ow!”  
  
“I didn’t kick you that hard.”  
  
“It was already tender,” said Sam as she rubbed her shin. “I hit it on my coffee table last night. Hey, don’t look at me like that. It's a well-known fact that coffee tables are attracted to shins.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“It’s true. If you ever need a coffee table, just close your eyes and walk forward. I guarantee one will just appear.”  
  
Reagan chuckled. “You’re an idiot,” she said, affection and annoyance, the yin and yang of sororal relationships, battling for control of her voice. “So, how’s life in the fast lane?”  
  
“Glacial. We’ve been given a mandate to automate the library’s catalog, but Mrs. Rogers has been fighting it tooth and nail.”  
  
“She’s old.”  
  
“She’s antediluvian.”  
  
“I mean that she just hasn’t had time to adjust to computers.”  
  
“It’s been thirty years. How much more time does she need?”  
  
“She’s spent that entire time in Saint-Martin.”  
  
“So have I!”  
  
“You went to college.”  
  
“That doesn’t count.”  
  
“And where did you learn about computers? Michigan State University,” said Reagan, an air of finality creeping into her voice. Arguing further would be pointless. Instead, Sam’s attention shifted to the diner’s newest occupant, Ada Grünberg.  
  
Ada was a curiosity. Quick-witted and congenial, she could talk at length and with some knowledge on any number of disparate topics, but remained maddeningly silent about herself, deflecting Sam’s queries with practiced skill. The information she did share hinted at a background far more cosmopolitan than Sam’s own parochial life. Plus, there was just something about her eyes that captivated her. At once expressive yet guarded, she had found herself ensorcelled on more than one occasion by the azure de—damn it, she was doing it again.  
  
“What was that?” asked Reagan.  
  
“I was just thinking about a new coworker.”  
  
“Hmm? Perchance a potential paramour?”  
  
“What? No.”  
  
“That’s not what your face says. So, tell me about your new beau. Is he handsome?”  
  
“Look over and see for yourself.”  
  
“I don’t see anyone except for the redhead in the suit.”  
  
“That would be Ada Grünberg, Saint-Martin High’s latest employee.”  
  
At once, Reagan fell into a fit of giggles. “Oh man, did I read that one wrong,” she said, her laughter ringing out like a loud ringing thing, beckoning all and sundry to pay attention. So much for maturity.  
  
Sam hid behind her hands. “I can’t take you anywhere.”  
  
“Sam?” came an accented voice.  
  
Sam yelped—she really needed to stop doing that—and reflexively lashed out. Moments later, Sam was apologizing profusely as a soaked Ada sat next to her in the booth.  
  
“I’m so so so so so sorry, Ada.”  
  
“Don’t mention it,” said Ada as she dabbed at her wet shirt with a napkin.  
  
“At least let me help.” Sam grabbed a napkin and held it against Ada’s midriff.  
  
Ada’s breath hitched. “Okay,” she said. Was her voice always that husky? Sam felt herself heating down to her very core, a delayed response to her embarrassment.  
  
“What I want to know,” said Reagan in between giggles, “is why your instinctive response was to throw water at her.”  
  
“It’s a perfectly valid third option to the false fight/flight dichotomy.”  
  
“Besides, I don’t mind getting a little wet,” said Ada. Her skin was so smooth and soft. When had Sam’s hand dipped under her shirt? Wait, what? “I’m Ada.”  
  
“Reagan.”  
  
“Charmed.”  
  
“So, what do you do at the school?”  
  
“I’m standing in for Mrs. Wright until her daughter’s health improves.” How was her voice so calm? And why was Sam’s hand still on her?  
  
“Oh my gosh,” said Reagan, “I can’t believe I didn’t hear about that.” She shot a glare at Sam.  
  
Sam held up a hand in a defensive gesture. “It hadn’t come up.”  
  
“Is she okay?”  
  
“Sarah or her daughter?” asked Ada.  
  
“Sarah?”  
  
“Mrs. Wright,” said Sam.  
  
“Both, really, but mostly her daughter.”  
  
“Either way, we don’t really know.”  
  
“Then why did you ask who I meant?”  
  
“I didn’t want to risk answering a question you hadn’t asked.”  
  
Sam said, “They’re in a treatment facility in Connecticut.” She had finally managed to pull her hand away, her earlier embarrassment fading from memory. For some reason, she had immediately regretted doing so.  
  
“Is that good news or bad news?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “It’s news. What more do you want?” There was now a hand-sized hole deep inside her, aching to be filled.  
  
“So, Ada, what do you do for fun?”  
  
“This and that. Books, movies, games.”  
  
“Games? Like Monopoly?”  
  
Ada smiled. “I’d like to think my tastes are a little more refined than that. Back home, we’re in a sort of golden age of board games. There are also computer games.”  
  
“Oh great, you’re like her,” said Reagan, nodding at Sam, who threw a sugar packet at her. This prompted a frenzied battle that spilled out onto Main Street, with hostilities ceasing when a non-combatant was struck by a stray sugar packet.  
  
Sam had no reason to suspect that the Great Sugar Packet War was only just beginning.


End file.
